Chishui Forest
“Are you awake?”
Shen Shu lay sprawled on the cracked earth in a thin white robe, feeling as if every organ in his body had been shaken into a pulp.
He pressed a hand to his forehead and struggled upright. Dusk was falling, and thick fog surrounded him, leaving him barely able to see.
His old shifu’s words still rang in his ears: “You’re fated to suffer a love tribulation. I’ll send you to ancient times to hide.” They buzzed like wasps, making his head feel ready to split.
Hide? Go to ancient times?
His mind was hazy. He could faintly feel something prickling beneath his hand, and instinctively reached down and yanked it out by the roots.
Squish!
A plant’s stem pierced his hand.
The sharp prick jolted Shen Shu fully awake. He sucked in a breath and frowned at the thing in his hand.
It was a little flower. When he pulled apart its petals, he found a severed finger inside. The cut end had turned green, and even the fingernail was bent backward.
“Ah!” Shen Shu flung the disgusting thing away. It sailed several miles and landed squarely on someone’s leg.
Shen Shu wiped his hand with a look of revulsion, then followed its path with his eyes.
A man stood with the mountain mist at his back, dressed in white as pure as snow, tall and upright, with a blue-green mark between his brows.
He held a long, red-gold sword, its surface faintly engraved with the characters “Hanguang.”
He didn’t look like he was dressed for modern times.
Before Shen Shu could ask anything, the man slowly opened his mouth. “You don’t seem to be human.”
He smiled as he said it, as if he were sharing some wonderful news with Shen Shu.
Shen Shu got to his feet and watched him warily. The vermilion earring on Shen Shu’s earlobe swung twice.
“Who are you?”
The man replied with an easy smile, “A pleasure to meet you. I’m Wen Zhuo.”
Shen Shu sensed that something was wrong. He took a step back and asked, “What are you doing?”
“Planting flowers.”
“Where are the flowers?”
“You just pulled one out.”
As he finished speaking, Wen Zhuo spun the long sword in his hand and pointed it at Shen Shu’s forehead, as if he meant to crack open his skull.
Shen Shu: “…”
Run!
He pushed off the ground, spun around, and bolted into the thick fog. He didn’t care what the man said. From the look in his eyes, he was definitely going to kill him!
Cold seeped through Shen Shu’s skin in the frigid mountain forest. The fog wrapped around the dead tree stumps like bony claws. He sprinted through the fallen leaves and branches, his feet crunching loudly.
Running like that finally cleared Shen Shu’s head.
He really had traveled through time. He had no idea what year or day it was, and now the King of Hell was hunting him down because he’d accidentally picked one of the King of Hell’s flowers!
Shen Shu searched himself and found only a few talismans and a voice recorder. When he turned it on, thunderous snoring blared out.
He’d secretly recorded it while his old shifu wasn’t looking.
Shen Shu clamped a yellow talisman between his lips and fanned through the rest in his hand, one by one, as if counting bills. In the end, he irritably flung them all away.
His old shifu had been a Daoist and taught him a little magic, but most of it was the sort that could start a fire or summon a breeze. When it really mattered, not one bit of it was any use!
He took the yellow talisman from his mouth and flicked it into the air. A tongue of flame devoured the paper, lighting up a small patch of darkness.
Fog ahead, fog behind. He couldn’t make out which way was which.
Shen Shu had traveled through time in too much of a hurry. He was wearing only a thin robe, with a sandalwood bead pendant around his neck. He was woefully underdressed for deep winter, yet drenched in cold sweat.
Wen Zhuo?
Who?
Shen Shu didn’t dare stop. He looked back and saw a blue-and-white blur charging after him with a sword. It was almost on top of him.
“I really didn’t mean to step on your flower!” Shen Shu shouted as he ran. “Please, just let me go!”
No answer.
The footsteps kept coming.
Shen Shu gritted his teeth, pressed the playback button on his voice recorder, and hurled it straight at his pursuer. It landed in a pile of dead leaves, still playing the cow-like snoring on a loop.
Wen Zhuo seemed baffled by this incomprehensible object. His pace slowed as he tried to figure it out.
Taking advantage of the thick fog, Shen Shu ran in the opposite direction.
This was terrifying. Was the man the King of Hell?
He couldn’t run too fast. There was too much debris underfoot, and every step made a racket. He could only hold his breath and inch along.
When he finally couldn’t hear the footsteps anymore, Shen Shu found a tree so large that three people could have joined hands around it. He pressed his back to the trunk, put out the flame, and stopped moving.
He gasped for breath and hurriedly tried to collect his thoughts.
The terrain here was complicated. There was no way he could escape in a short time. And if he wasn’t mistaken, he’d run around in circles several times and ended up back where he started.
The fog in this forest was probably some kind of miasma, something that could lead people astray and keep them from escaping.
Trapped between a blocked path ahead and pursuers behind, he had nowhere to go.
But it was all right. He’d been a Daoist for years. What kind of demons and ghosts hadn’t he seen? All it would take was a little trick, and he could make them all disappear.
Shen Shu yanked a fruit knife from the gourd at his waist and pointed it at his own throat with a trembling hand.
One stab…
Shen Shu’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He aimed the tip of the knife at his throat as a thin sheen of sweat trickled down his neck.
“No,” Shen Shu said calmly after a while, lowering the knife. “I can’t do it.”
“Can’t do what?”
A voice exhaling cold air suddenly sounded beside Shen Shu’s ear. A chill climbed up from the soles of his feet.
Shen Shu turned around, nearly horrified, and found Wen Zhuo standing behind him, perfectly at ease.
He had his hands tucked into his sleeves, and his smile was as gentle as the clouds drifting through the mountain mist. He seemed delighted to see Shen Shu.
Shen Shu was not delighted to see him.
He jolted in fright and took half a step back. There happened to be a low mound behind him, and the sudden movement made his feet slip. He tumbled right into a hollow.
He landed in an awkward heap, one leg hooked over the edge of the depression, his body hanging upside down in the hollow. His robe rode up, exposing a strip of his waist.
Even after falling, he didn’t get up. He just lay in the hollow, panting hard, as the dry cold cut at his throat like a knife.
“Wait, wait,” Shen Shu said, lying in the hollow like a dead fish. He raised a hand, trying to negotiate. “Um, you’re called Wen Zhuo, right?”
Wen Zhuo walked over slowly. He no longer pointed his sword at Shen Shu. Instead, he leaned down slightly and looked at him with open curiosity.
He didn’t answer Shen Shu’s question. Instead, he asked, “Were your eyes always like that?”
Shen Shu was beautiful, with a pair of upturned fox eyes. His scarlet, slit pupils were like glass beads, so uncanny they didn’t look human.
“Yeah,” Shen Shu said, managing a strained smile. “But I’m human, not a demon. Daoist, please don’t kill me.”
“Human, not a demon?” Wen Zhuo repeated.
Wen Zhuo’s eyes were gray-blue. As he leaned over Shen Shu, Shen Shu’s red pupils were reflected in their pale depths, like roses trapped in ice, lending Wen Zhuo’s gaze a striking tenderness.
Wen Zhuo lowered his head a little more. His long hair nearly brushed Shen Shu’s face.
“How do you know you’re human and not a demon?”
What kind of question was that?
He’d been alive for eighteen years. How could he possibly not know whether he was human or a demon? Only an idiot wouldn’t know!
Shen Shu tried to buy himself some time. “Because my parents were human, not demons.”
That was a lie. He’d been taken in by his old shifu and raised at a Daoist temple when he was little. He’d never met his parents.
Wen Zhuo crouched and reached toward Shen Shu’s head.
Shen Shu was already on edge. At the gesture, he grew even more wary and immediately dodged Wen Zhuo’s hand. His pupils narrowed to slits.
Wen Zhuo drew his hand back and smiled faintly. “Where did you come from?”
“I…” Shen Shu took a couple of short breaths, and his pupils slowly widened again. “I used to work as a hired hand for a family. They thought my eyes were too frightening and threw me out here.”
“I haven’t had anything to eat or drink for months,” Shen Shu continued, his voice catching as he started to play for sympathy. “Daoist, I grew up in that family’s manor and rarely got to see the outside world. This is the first time I’ve ever traveled far from home.”
Wen Zhuo was indeed moved. His brow furrowed slightly as he gently brushed the corner of Shen Shu’s eye with his hand.
“If you come with me, I’ll never let you suffer like that again.”
Shen Shu nodded obediently and asked cautiously, “Then are you still going to kill me?”
Wen Zhuo stood and nodded too.
Shen Shu despaired. “Why?”
Wen Zhuo simply said, “You touched those flowers.”
So it really was because he’d touched the flowers!
They’d been so disgusting, and his hand still hurt. Pulling the thing out had practically done everyone a favor. What a petty, vindictive man…
But Shen Shu had been in the wrong to begin with, and for a moment he couldn’t think of any way to argue back.
He couldn’t beat Wen Zhuo or talk his way out of it. Was waiting to die all he could do?
No. There was still another way.
Shen Shu steadied his breathing, lowered his brows, and lifted his eyes. His scarlet pupils shimmered in the dark.
He slowly rose, no trace of fear left on his face, and with perfect composure stepped in front of Wen Zhuo, looking as if he meant to negotiate.
Then, with a thump, he dropped to his knees and slid forward.
Wen Zhuo’s expression shifted slightly as he stared at him.
Shen Shu raised a hand to press down on Wen Zhuo’s sword. His eyes glistened with tears, their corners red. He gazed up at him with the pitiful look of a fox with drooping ears.
“Please don’t kill me. I’m begging you.”
The bright golden sword clattered to the ground.